


Out of the Shadows (she walks like a dream)

by ambiguously



Category: Solo: A Star Wars Story (2018)
Genre: F/F, Ghost Sex, Ghosts, Spooky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-01
Updated: 2019-11-01
Packaged: 2020-12-14 03:48:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21009230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ambiguously/pseuds/ambiguously
Summary: Qi'ra gave the order to kill Enfys Nest and rid herself of the marauders plaguing Crimson Dawn. Now Enfys visits her every single night.





	Out of the Shadows (she walks like a dream)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Artemis1000](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Artemis1000/gifts).

> Archive Warnings in the end notes, spoilers for the story

Once upon a time, there was a ghost, and Qi'ra hated her.

Qi'ra carried her ghosts with her like beads on a necklace too gaudy to wear in the rarefied playing fields of her current position. The puppet head of Crimson Dawn was as fabulously wealthy as the other private movers and removers of the galaxy. At their level the only difference between was who had stolen their money and who had inherited stolen money from a felonious forebear. Qi'ra was blessed with both her acquisitions from Dryden and from her own clever dealings which had increased the coffers of the gang. She couldn't very well pull out her string of ghosts over champagne and describe to a tittering crowd how she'd cut this one's throat, or broken this one's heart, or left his one for dead six months ago. Even the nouveau riche would call that gauche.

She hadn't intended to destroy the Cloud-Riders. The head of Crimson Dawn couldn't allow a mercenary group tied to the rumored brewing rebellion to cut off supply routes, or steal hard-stolen goods her own people had liberated from the Empire. The Cloud-Riders and their fabled leader were bad for business. When the call needed to be made, Qi'ra had given the order to drop the hidden explosives, destroying the day's take and their competition in one messy pressure wave.

It was just business, she'd said to her staff, not letting herself wonder how the front expanded faster than the speed of sound, splintering bones and pulverizing organs. She didn't speculate about the sound of the secondary explosions as the weapons they'd fought over detonated and settled the score. All those imaginary wisps were for her nightmares.

Qi'ra had grown up sleeping in rags and young bodies piled together for heat, stinking of sweat and garbage. These days she slept in a bed half the size of her room, yet she still curled herself in blankets as though wrapping herself against a chilly Corellian night, and she dreamed of her ghosts. Some were more haunting than others. She didn't regret Dryden's death, nor the death of the master she'd served before him. Others were harder to dismiss once the lights were dimmed.

"You didn't need to give the order," said the ghost. Enfys Nest sat on the edge of Qi'ra's bed. Mercifully, her imagination hadn't burned or scarred Enfys in her death. "You could have stopped it."

"You were in my way." The words sounded as hollow spoken aloud tonight as they did rattling inside her head when she let herself think about what had happened.

"Your way is the wrong way." The ghost peered at the table beside Qi'ra's luxurious bed, examining the fine jewelry, the carefully-chosen fragrant oils, and the small, ornately-carved wooden box where Qi'ra kept a discreet amount of spice, enough to help her sleep on the bad nights. This visitation was nothing more than another hazy spice-induced delusion ushering her into unconsciousness.

Qi'ra rolled away from the apparition. "Go away. You're dead."

Against her ear, she felt a faint stirring, less than a breath. "The dead have nothing but time on their hands."

Night after night, the vision of her guilt came to her, and sat on her bed, and chided her for her decision. Day after day, Qi'ra ordered her people to search out any traces of survivors from the massacre, and came back with nothing. There had been no bodies to recover, which made her nervous, but there was also no word. Enfys and her crew weren't the types to stay out of sight for long, not when there were Black Sun transactions to harry, or a Crymorah Syndicate mission to foil. They'd never cease their continued harassment of Crimson Dawn activities. Qi'ra would know if Enfys Nest was alive. Only Jedi left ghosts behind, or so the stories said. This was her imagination, or the withered remnant of her conscience.

"You're not real," she said to her uninvited guest.

Enfys placed an ethereal hand on the elegant jewelry Qi'ra wore to conceal her scumrat past. "Neither are you."

She expected other ghosts: Han perhaps, although he'd survived meeting her again, or Dryden's previous lieutenant, who had not. Part of her wondered if this was some test from her new Master, a projection of the Force designed to evince some reaction he could observe to judge her value. That made little sense. Maul had known the Cloud-Riders were a problem. He couldn't read her mind to know how Qi'ra had focused on their leader.

"I used to dream about you," she told the ghost. "For months after we met." She could still pull those dreams to mind, even caught here in her half-dream. Qi'ra had spent nights talking with Enfys, convincing her to join the Crimson Dawn and bring her forces to work for them, embracing her as a sister, pressing her down against soft sheets and tasting her as a lover. Even in dreams, her tongue lay heavy with the sweet-salt-clean and her ears rang with the low, grunting cries her fantasy lover had made.

Possibly Maul did know, at that. Possibly that was why he'd sent this shade.

"Dreams don't mean anything," Enfys told her sadly. "If they did, I would have convinced you to join me long ago."

The nights passed and Qi'ra grew used to her companion. She knew when she closed her eyes, the apparition would haunt her, sitting beside her, or staring out the window of her room, or drowsing beside her in the bed.

Qi'ra had spent the evening at another party, making connections and small talk, wondering behind her own distant eyes what these luminaries would think if they knew she'd rooted out fat slugs from the sewer mud to fill her belly, and picked pockets, and more, just to survive. She assumed some of them had done the same, and many more would use the information to extract promises and deals from her, in which case she'd have to kill them, and murder got so messy.

She was drawn out of her thoughts by the night's entertainment. A lovely dancer moved with stunning ease right next to the audience, leaving a whiff of light perfume behind her. Qi'ra was entranced, and aroused, and she wasn't the only one. Some of her fellow party-goers would not spend the night in their own beds after this. Qi'ra had spent enough nights without her own bed ever to make that mistake. She returned to her yacht, and in the privacy of her room, she cleared away the makeup she wore as camouflage, and disrobed from the fine gown she wore as armor, and peeled off each ring, necklace, and bangle she used to distract. Nude, and deliciously alone, she lay upon her fine sheets holding a small, vibrating egg that lived inside a compartment of her bedside table.

The dancer had been beautiful, long-limbed and graceful, her features a perfect blend of coquettish innocence and lascivious implication. Whoever had hired her had known precisely what effect she'd have. Qi'ra gasped as the humming tip of the egg stroked her clit.

"Starting without me?"

Enfys stood by the bed, arms folded, watching her. Qi'ra thought she might freeze in embarrassment and instead she locked her eyes onto the ghostly face. Enfys had exuded that same remarkable blend of innocence and understanding. She was lithe and strong. Qi'ra's hand twitched, bringing more of the egg's surface in contact with her skin and she moaned.

She watched as Enfys sat on the bed, almost felt the weight shift as she settled herself astride Qi'ra's closed legs, pressed together in the good way she always liked as she pleasured herself. The ghost watched her move the egg back and forth, and Qi'ra watched her in her observation until the vibration changed pitch and she pinched her own eyes shut with another moan. Eyes closed and alone in the room, she had to imagine the press of a chilly finger against her vulva, separate from the toy shooting sparks through her nerves. She was only fantasizing as the finger slid into her wetly, and crooked, and was joined by two more, pressing inside her as the toy changed pitch again.

She couldn't be feeling this. Her mind was cracking, from guilt or from her master. There was no way she felt the talented slither and press of fingers inside herself. Qi'ra had a well-used toy in hand, that was all. She could slip it into her own vagina right now to place the vibrations against the pleasure spot up and in, except that her mind told her there was a hand in the way. As her eyes slid open again, she watched Enfys lean in, and she felt a delicate, curious tongue taste her where she was penetrated.

She came with a high, gasping cry, and whimpered her way through a second peak as Enfys pressed against her inside. She dropped the egg to the side of herself on the bed, rubbing her eyes with her other hand. A good fantasy, yes. That was all.

The ghost lay beside her, and she kissed Qi'ra, tasting of Qi'ra's own cunt, and this was madness.

"You need to be gone," Qi'ra said the following night. "You are my imagination, and I need to be sane. I need to be strong."

"You are sane," said Enfys. "I wish you could be strong."

Qi'ra switched rooms the next day. The yacht was huge. Perhaps if she slept in the office, or in the lounge, or in one of the servant's cabins, she would have enough of a new perspective to dream of less upsetting things than the dead woman who visited her.

"Begone, spirit," she said dully, when she saw her ghost had followed.

"You're the one calling me here," said Enfys, curled up with her knees held in her own arms while she perched in a chair. "I would rather be home, going over plans to seize those medical supplies you're planning on stealing tomorrow from that Imperial convoy. I have much to do."

"You have nothing to do. You're dead, and I killed you."

Enfys shrugged. "Did you? And how do you feel about that?"

"I wish I could kill you again."

It was a lie, and the spirit dismissed it as such. Qi'ra returned to her own bed, and her visions returned Enfys to her in glorious nudity. They chided one another for not taking the obvious road and abandoning their own doomed gang, even as Qi'ra's fingertips teased Enfys into wide-eyed shivers, or as Enfys guided another of Qi'ra's playthings into her as her lips suckled at her clit.

"Your choice is foolish," Enfys said in her ear one night, twisting the memory of her hand, and Qi'ra squealed in delight and disagreement. "You had me killed for no good reason."

"I have a lot of people killed," Qi'ra told her another night, snaking one thin finger into her vagina, and a second into the tight clench of her ass. She could almost feel the squeeze on both fingers, lighter than the wind. "You're not special."

Enfys held her on a long, cold, dim night when Qi'ra's plans had all fallen through. "I am special," she told her, kissing Qi'ra on the neck like a feather's touch.

"Because I love you." Truth was easy in the dark, speaking to the woman she'd killed, even if it was awful.

"Because I won't leave you, and I won't let you leave me."

In defiance of this declaration, Qi'ra was alone the next night and the next. She told herself her mind had worked out the last of her lingering guilt over her orders, and if she'd worked that out via a large number of sex dreams, that only meant Qi'ra had gone a long time without sex. She'd feared that would be one of the demands Maul made of her, had steeled herself to comply, but he'd never broached the topic, and she'd seen no need to take a lover and threaten her position. No wonder her mind had returned to her harmless fantasies of a pretty face holding firmer convictions than Qi'ra had ever had the luxury to entertain. Admiration was the closest Qi'ra could ever feel to love, or so she told herself as she closed her eyes at night, her hand damp between her own legs and her limbs soporific from her quick, satisfying orgasm alone.

Three days passed with no visitor to her bedroom. On the fourth day, her own lieutenant, a hungry-eyed girl Qi'ra was bright enough not to get too close to, brought her an update. She'd offered payment to one of their affiliated mercenaries to hijack a spice freighter bound for an Imperial depot. The freighter had been easy to take, and the crew marooned on a world not too far outside of the regular space lanes, but that's where the story took a turn.

Qi'ra read the flimsiplast in her hand over and over. "The Cloud-Riders? They were positive?"

"Yes, ma'am. Attacked as soon as they lifted off from the planet. Killed half of our men, and dropped the rest back with their own prisoners. This was from the lone survivor. Those spice runners are vicious."

Qi'ra didn't care about the spice runners. "I thought we finished them."

Her lieutenant didn't reply.

Qi'ra laid her plans carefully. She had to see for herself, and she had to look like she was acting in the best interests of Crimson Dawn, not her own. Maul would know, and he would punish her. It took her the better part of two months to find her opportunity, and settled on a coaxium transport: highly profitable, irresistable to her foes, and reminiscent of how they'd met.

She led the mission herself. Her people easily overpowered the stormtroopers guarding the cargo. They soon had the transport secured, and worry trickled down her back. The Cloud-Riders would not come. The bait had been too obvious. She would have to try again, and again. She would try. She had to know.

The blaster bolt hitting the transport next to her head filled her with giddy relief.

As soon as the swoop bikes came into view, Qi'ra dropped her weapon, and ordered her men to do the same as she raised her hands in surrender. Now came her faith, as tattered and abused as it had been over the years. She stood still, arms up, watching the bikes near. Another blaster singed closer. She didn't flinch.

The leader called off the attack. She wore a different mask now, similar to the original but clearly new. It could be someone else. When she landed next to Qi'ra, the rest of the swoop bikes stayed aloft in case of betrayal. Qi'ra wondered if Enfys would leave her mask on, and deny her the last piece of knowledge she needed. A long hesitation passed between them. Then Enfys removed her helmet and showed her face.

Qi'ra had ordered the explosion, and Enfys had been burned. Part of her scalp was still bare of hair. The rest of her curls had been hacked short. Qi'ra thought she was utterly, amazingly, impossibly beautiful.

"Came to see your handiwork personally?"

"I didn't think you'd survived."

"I nearly didn't. Some of my best people didn't."

She wanted to say, _"It was just business."_ She tried to say, _"The galaxy is hard to survive in for all of us."_ She needed to say, _"They knew what they were getting into."_

She said, "I'm sorry."

Enfys tilted her head. "I almost believe you. I was unconscious for weeks. I hovered between life and death. But I needed to survive. I have to pay you back for trying to kill me."

Enfys intended to kill her for the things she'd done. Perhaps today, ending the brief truce with a bloodbath, perhaps on some distant moon a decade from now, creeping up behind her with a knife. At least Qi'ra had her answer now.

She wondered if Enfys had been looking for answers, too.

"I have a lot of people killed," Qi'ra said. "You're not special."

Enfys's face twisted. "I am special," she replied, and the voice was the ghost.

"You haunted me." It was no madder than everything that had happened to Qi'ra thus far in her life. Had it been the Force? Some even stranger magic Enfys had learned at her mother's knee?

"Haunted _you_? You came to my bedside as I lingered close to death. You taunted me. You...." Enfys could still redden in a blush, under the scars and the freckles Qi'ra had counted with kisses.

They watched one another. The other Cloud-Riders hovered nearby. The men Qi'ra had brought with her, all expendable, slowly lowered their own hands. She observed them in her peripheral vision, which was all they were worth, a side glance and no more. Without taking her eyes off Enfys, she drew her hidden blaster and in less than a second, she'd squeezed off five blasts, stunning her own lackeys. Then she dropped the blaster to the ground beside the first one.

"I'm not sane," Qi'ra said. "I would like to be strong."

Enfys dropped her gaze to the still bodies. "If you let them live, they'll cause you trouble later."

"That seems to be a recurring problem."

Enfys collected her own thoughts. "Your life will not be easy. Many of my people hate you."

"I know."

"Then come." She climbed aboard her bike. There was room enough for a passenger. Qi'ra climbed on behind her. She'd brought a small knapsack containing the few items of her own that she treasured, and enough jewelry to pay her way for some time. Nothing else was important except the thrum of the bike between her knees, and the pressure of the woman in her arms as she leaned forward and held on tight.

Once upon a time there was a living, breathing woman, and Qi'ra loved her very much.

**Author's Note:**

> Major Character Death is assumed by POV character for other main characters, but other character turns out not to be dead.


End file.
